by Ink Bamboo
Amro offered them an opportunity for salvation. As such, he was free to give orders left and right, driving all the efforts necessary to achieve this purpose. Most of his subordinates were tasked with collecting reagents, trading for them when possible and looting when necessary. The rest, on the other hand, were tasked with gathering everyone affected by the poison in a single place, facilitating their accessibility to treatment. Finally, a small strike team led by Slyfox had been charged with sneaking into the Church of Harvest and ‘retrieving’ as much holy water as they could.
Amro made use of his time to prepare what little reagents were brought to him over time. With his skills, he was able to concoct something capable of neutralizing the poison afflicting the townsfolk. As the true lord of death, how could an imitation like this stump him?
Of course, the amount of antidote he could provide was limited. Because of that, the slums needed Slyfox’s side of the plan to be successful in order to save the rest. Once that was done, dealing with the culprit would be the only task left.
As for the consequences that may occur from robbing the church, neither Amro nor Slyfox cared. They didn’t get along with the clergy anyway.
All in due time, Amro thought to himself. Calming Zaros’s consciousness had already become second nature to his actions during the past hour.
Despite being disconnected from humanity and their emotions for millennia, Amro’s soul-link to Zaros had made him remember one fatal weakness of mortals — empathy. Because of this, he had no choice but to make an active effort. His link had made him realize how much his relationship with Zaros would deteriorate should he choose not to take action. In the end, if he helped and the results were still not favorable, he could at least wash his hands of the matter.
Alas, fate was a cruel mistress, and roadblocks were meant to be placed before every goal. While he was working on finding a solution, someone else had made their way to interfere with his plans. From the distance, a black-haired man covered in the white tunic of a cleric could be seen staring daggers at him. It was clear that his intentions were not good.
Noticing his presence, Amro sighed at the advent of another bothersome event. By his robes alone, he knew the bothersome fellow was a disciple from the Church of Life.
The cleric glared at him, not hiding his murderous intent at all. He had noticed the substance Amro was currently crafting, leading him to make all kinds of unkindly associations.
What is it with mortals and their inability to see beyond their horizons? thought Amro. This wasn’t the first time since he had reincarnated into Zaros’s body that a mortal thought they could take him on. It was increasingly frustrating to have to hold back his punches towards this kind of impulsive, ignorant human.
Sure enough, the priest made his way to Amro, ignoring all the people from the slums barring his path. His gaze was set on the boy and the alchemical solutions he had in his hands. It was clear beyond doubt that he had misunderstood the situation.
“You!” he said, his finger pointing towards Amro’s face. “It was you who caused all of this. You dare to create such a thing out in the open? It must have been you who unleashed this calamity upon this town. Surrender now to the church for further questioning!”
Amro’s eye twitched as he suppressed his anger. It seems mortals have grown increasingly arrogant, he thought.
In his first interaction after reincarnation, mortals had tried to intimidate him. The second time, they thought they could walk over him and make him the victim of robbery. And now, a mere mortal thought he could order him around?
He might have taken it from Zaros as listening to the naïve boy’s requests was useful to him. But to take it from a random priest from the Church of Life? No way.
He dropped everything before him, grabbing the priest’s finger with a swift motion of his hand. Once he saw Amro’s movement, Michael tried to retract his hand. Unfortunately, once he did, he came to realize he couldn’t move. His finger was already held within the boy’s grasp.
How? thought the priest to himself. He could sense the boy was no more than a rank one. At best, he might be bordering rank two. Even then, that shouldn’t have been able to match him in terms of hand-speed. Could a boy so young be knowledgeable enough to know how to hide his real rank?
“If you want to blame someone, blame yourself, priest. To not even realize you’ve been aiding them shows your own incompetence,” said Amro. His grip over the priest’s hand remained strong. Still, he managed to control his ire just enough to avoid harming him.
Stopping him had been his priority. He knew how stupidly fast things would have escalated if he had left the priest to continue rambling.
Michael tried to use some mana to break away from Amro’s grasp. To his surprise, however, he found that the mana in the environment wasn’t being responsive. He had no way to know Amro had already suppressed it along with his chances to fight back.
Without mana to enhance his strength, Michael knew he had little ways of getting away. Only then did he bother processing Amro’s words. My fault? What is he talking about?
Fortunately for him, Amro soon answered his question. Not with words, but with actions.
Taking one of the stones he had been using to crush the herbs, Amro spoke up again. “See for yourself.”
With a swift motion of his arm, Amro shot the stone into the sky. Surprisingly, instead of vanishing into nothingness, it suddenly came to a stop.
*Thud!*
Michael and the rest of the onlookers soon found out why. A crow missing a wing fell to the ground. Its feathers were as black as the night sky, making it nearly undetectable during its flight. Even after crashing into the ground, the creature struggled, apparently trying to get away.
Michael’s eyes widened as he looked at the fallen bird. He quickly realized what the boy meant with his words. Even if they were slightly different from the ones he knew, the inscriptions covering the creature’s plumage were something he recognized. They were the work of a necromancer; a forbidden class of mage who specialized in controlling dead bodies as their puppets.
“How — how did you know?” asked the astonished priest.
“Things are easier to see when you actually care to look for them,” answered Amro. “With that out of the way, priest. Do you care about saving lives, or are you just here to toot your own horn?”
The priest remained quiet, unable to understand the boy’s underhanded insults.
“I’m a busy person. Right now, I’m trying to neutralize the poison affecting these folks. Are you at least skilled enough to bless some holy water?”
Hearing his words, the priest finally broke out of his stupor.
“Of course I am!” he said. “I’m a rank two priest, someone trained in the capital!”
A snort was all Michael received from Amro regarding his so-called-training. For all the fallen god cared, the priest was a glorified water filter.
Michael was still confused. Thus, he tried to make sense of things by continuing with a barrage of questions. “How are you able to neutralize the poison of death? Are you not an envoy from the rebels? Are they truly working with the church of death?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” answered Amro, going back to his work. “As for how I am able to deal with this so-called-poison, you’re still too young to understand it.”
Amro didn’t even bother to look at the priest anymore. All his focus returned to grinding the herbs on his table and finishing the concoction he had started before the interruption.
“Why don’t you take these people to the church? Are you even sure you’ll be able to cure them? We can use holy water stored in the church to wash away the poison once we're there.”
Amro continued to crush the herbs without pause. It took a few minutes before he finally offered an answer to the priest. “Am I supposed to believe the church will actually treat them? Think about it yourself, priest. If these hoodlums were to appear at the same time as the nobles and the commoners, who do y
ou think would receive treatment first? What’s more, does that small church even have the capacity to treat a pandemic of this size?”
Amro’s word struck Michael with sudden realization and guilt. He was right. The rich and powerful would always receive priority when it came to healing. Their faith was the same to the gods, but without the nobles’ support, the church wouldn’t be able to hold as much influence as it did. It was a matter of politics.
That made Michael realize that not everyone would survive this night with the church's help alone, much less the residents of the slums.
He turned to look around and saw the few healthy residents of the slums working in tune to the boy’s instructions. It was much different from the chaotic north or the selfish east. Was this boy really trying to cause trouble like what the rumors said?
“That doesn’t explain how you’ll be able to counteract the poison. You might be talented for your age, but you’re only a kid. How do you expect me to believe you have that kind of knowledge?” he questioned.
“Think about it yourself, priest. I’m under no obligation to answer,” rebuked Amro.
“Stop calling me ‘priest.’ My name is Michael. Rank two cleric from the Church of Life, envoy to the south and temporary supervisor to the Church of Harvest’s operations in this town.”
“Then think about it, priest,” said Amro, disregarding all the titles the priest had used to name himself. “What do you call someone with knowledge limited to the gods, yet disproportionate to their age and background?”
Upon hearing that, a sudden realization dawned upon Michael.
“Are you perhaps, a ‘Chosen’?” asked Michael with equal parts worry and fear.
This revelation shocked him. The Chosen were existences considered as the paragons of a church. They were people chosen by the gods to enact their will in the mortal world. Blessed by the private guidance from their god, they were individuals with extreme maturity and knowledge disproportional to their age.
What is a Chosen be doing alone so far away from the mainland? Was he perhaps sent by his god to stop this attack from the Church of Death?
“You can think of it that way,” said Amro. “Anyway, are you planning on standing there or are you going to get me some holy water? People are dying as we speak.”
With the wake-up call, Michael rushed to bless some basins of water placed next to Amro. The fallen God of Death could only smile wryly at his ability to fool humans. It was too easy. After all, who could understand the mind of a zealot better than a fallen god who used to have thousands of them under him?
Meanwhile, as he blessed the basins of water, Michael watched from the side. He could see the boy focused on his task without regards for his surroundings. The small hands worked rapidly as he crafted the medicine with a speed befitting only the best alchemists in the capital.
However, the time it took for each cycle of potion to brew and the rhythm at which they were being consumed soon made him realize something. There weren’t enough reagents to save all the afflicted here. Even if he was to intervene and try to heal the rest, there were simply too many people. They would never be able to save them all.
Is he really not aware of it?
Michael was about to ask, or at the very least, inform Amro about the situation. However, even before he could do so, Amro shot him a glare. The meaning behind his gaze was clear: ‘keep quiet.’
Why? he thought. Why don’t you tell them?
While he pondered about it, Maria ran towards their group. Behind her, a group of young children from the slums carried several pouches in their hands. Even as exhaustion threatened to overtake her, a smile filled her face as she handed the herbs to Amro.
So that was the reason… hope.
Chapter 27
A puppet master’s performance.
Even dreamers had to face reality. The situation on the west side of town, while better than what anyone could have expected, was not looking too good. Less than a third of the people affected had been treated, yet the resources needed to keep aiding them were pretty much gone. Even the black-haired priest from the church of life had to admit that what had been accomplished so far was already pushing their luck.
However, not everyone understood the situation. Those with family and friends who still had not been treated couldn’t help but keep pleading for help. Unfortunately, as much as they cried, there was little anyone could do.
Eventually, someone voiced what was inside everyone’s mind. It was Maria, the teenager whom Zaros had rescued not too long ago.
“We won’t be able to save everyone, right?”
“No,” said Amro. His voice left no room for doubts.
“Is there anything else we can do?” she asked, trying to garner whatever hope there was left.
Michael shook his head. “I don’t think so. I would suggest going to the church, but I’m sure that at this moment, they’re flooded with everyone from the northern, southern and eastern district. Doing so would probably turn out to be nothing but a waste of energy.”
“We already have someone taking that approach. I just don’t know if he will be able to accomplish our goal,” said Alexander, butting into the conversation. He was currently distributing wine and ale to those who had been helping. People had grown thirsty because of the exhaustion, but the wells of water in the city were currently unusable.
“Slyfox will find a way,” said Amro. “He is a sly old man, the kind to get things done regardless of the price.”
His words surprised those subordinates who knew of his relationship with their old leader. No one expected him to speak in Slyfox’s favor.
Eventually, the antidotes ran out, leaving nothing else to do but wait. With that, the mood darkened, driving everyone into silence. Only the occasional cries from those who still had affected friends and family could be heard.
This isn’t right, thought Amro to himself. I’m the God of Death, not the God of Massacre. The laws of death shouldn’t be used in such ways. Have those idiotic priests gone stray without my guidance?
During his time, his church had indeed plotted some massacres, but they always had a purpose. Be it overthrowing a tyrant, eliminating a village to stop a disease from spreading, or sieging cults to the demons, his orders to the church of death always had a reason behind them. Things like poisoning the common folk were beneath both him and his worshippers of old.
The situation forced him to think about the state of his church. It was worse than he had initially thought. During his battle with the other gods, he had ordered his followers to sacrifice everything they had available to him. It was a choice made out of desperation. One that intended to help him regain his strength during the first siege led by a group consisting of many middle and lesser gods.
Given the situation and his need for some free time to think, he decided to pass the baton onto Zaros, not before giving him some words of advice.
“Okay, boy, I did what could be done,” said Amro. “Whatever choices you take next are up to you. However, if I was you, I’d leave this place along with anyone you cared about.”
“Why?” asked Zaros, feeling rather confused.
“I have a feeling that whoever did this didn’t intend to finish it with the poison alone. Something worse is coming, and my instincts tell me it’s aiming for you.”
✽✽✽
The sound of maniacal laughter broke the silent atmosphere in the desolate woods bordering Sol.
“I knew it! I knew it! Leave it to those bastards from the church to snoop and find what we were looking for.” A young woman with silver hair and scarlet eyes was sitting on the ground as she held a red crystal in her hands. It was Noelle, the apostle sent by the Church of Death.
Next to her stood a tall man with muscles straining his robes and a pair of desolate eyes. He was looking towards the direction of the town. It was Bernard, the man tasked to accompany her during this mission.
“You found him?” he asked.
“O
f course, you oaf. Can’t you see how happy I am?”
That was insulting, thought Bernard. At times like this, he opted to ignore his partner’s behavior. She grew too excited when it came to matters related to their god. “Did you see it? The legacy we’re looking for?”
“No, I wasn’t able to see anything reminiscent of a legacy on him. However, I could tell it was him. He found my cute flying toy without any help. It is impossible for a child to do that without divine assistance.”
“A child?”
“Yes, a boy no older than 15,” she answered. “He has cute, pale skin, black hair, and amber-colored eyes. He’s our target.”
Bernard nodded. An eerie smile appeared on his lips as he started stretching both of his arms. “Does this mean we can finally move in?”
“Indeed,” she said, turning to look back towards the forest giant as she did so.
Behind them, an army of disheveled and dirt-covered men and women stood in wait. The only defining characteristic they shared were the markings scribbled across their bodies along with the rotten stench they gave away. Noelle’s gaze softened as she looked at them, her eyes filled with as much warmth as a mother looking at her children.
On the other hand, Bernard kept looking forward, ignoring the disgusting army following behind them. He only spoke up after he realized his partner had become too distracted with her ‘toys.’ “If your crow successfully delivered my packages, the poison should have weakened them sufficiently by now.”
Shaken out of her distracted state by Bernard’s words, Noelle smiled. It was finally time for her to release her hounds of war. “Go on, it’s time for everyone to play,” she said. A glint of insanity shining in her doe-like eyes.
As if her words were a key that unlocked a set of invisible chains, most of the undead began running forward wildly. There was no order to their movements, making them look much like a swarm of wild beasts. It even seemed like they were competing against each other to be the first to reach the town. That was their instinct, telling them there was food for them inside.